


I'll Be Better

by spacestationwedding



Category: Sebastian Stan- Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, Love, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-08 17:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationwedding/pseuds/spacestationwedding
Summary: A little story of Sebastian Stan and an original character (intentionally unnamed so you can imagine yourself if you wish) going through some issues around jealousy and alcoholism, but eventually working through and coming out stronger.His eyes are blue.Of course, they aren’t like anyone else’s eyes that I’ve ever seen. This wouldn’t be an interesting story if he had boring eyes, right? They were bright, startlingly so. When he smiled, there were tiny lines that appeared in the corners and their shape turned upward. When I saw those smiling eyes, it was almost comforting.Over the years, I’d grown to depend on that expression.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ***This is COMPLETELY fictional, and by no means am I trying to imply that Seb has issues with alcohol. That man is too perfect I had to make up a flaw for him lol****  
> Updates will hopefully be daily  
> Please leave your feedback, it's always appreciated!

His eyes are blue. 

Of course, they aren’t like anyone else’s eyes that I’ve ever seen. This wouldn’t be an interesting story if he had boring eyes, right? They were bright, startlingly so. When he smiled, there were tiny lines that appeared in the corners and their shape turned upward. When I saw those smiling eyes, it was almost comforting. 

Over the years, I’d grown to depend on that expression. 

When I didn’t see it, our times together felt lost. But once things smoothed over and I coaxed that smile from him, it was like I was on the right path again. It’s silly, to feel so dependent upon one person, much less their  _ smile, _ but I was out of control of my emotions. 

Often times I felt out of control, and it was infuriating. 

You’d think after so many years of experience with other people, I’d get over this. You’d think it’d be a lesson learned after so many failed relationships and counseling sessions. 

“You’d think” is hardly ever reflective of reality. 

See, my problem is that I love too fiercely. Too protectively. Too enviously. Too full of this desperate need to control whomever I love. Sometimes my attention to detail is a curse, making me think things are there that really aren’t.

I’m terrified of losing him. But that possessiveness could be the thing that causes that loss again. Isn’t that ironic?

Whenever we have problems, I flash back to my past. I remember those lessons, because I’m scared to forget them. Every time, I catch myself being in the wrong. He never is at fault, it’s me. Just takes some careful scrutiny and swallowing a lot of pride to admit it. Not that he’s perfect, but at least he knows how I tend to react and calls me out when I’m wrong. 

It is difficult at times. We have many differences; I’m a Scorpio, he’s a Leo. I’m introverted and don’t mind being alone, he’s extroverted and gains energy by being around someone. I’m hate the spotlight and am terribly shy, he’s an actor. We don’t always agree, but sometimes that’s what works. 

People say that we make each other better people. I think I see what they mean. 

Once, we had been arguing on and off for a few days. Slippery slopes all around, with one fight leading into many more. 

When it was finally all said and done, a compromise reached and apologies given, I had been sitting at the kitchen island with tea and a novel. After a while, I realized that it had taken me five minutes to read one single sentence, because my eyes had glazed over. Thoughts and guilt were overrunning my mind without my awareness. 

Silently, I felt him approach. Maybe he had noticed that I hadn't actually been reading.

“Dragoste,” I sighed at the term of endearment he’d given me. “Can we go back to normal?”

I always waited for the other person, whoever it may be, to reach out to me and make up. It was just easier to let go of the anger when I knew he already had.

Big breath in. Smile. “Certainly.”  

“Good. What are you reading?”

Looking down, I laughed and shrugged. “I have no idea. Wasn’t actually reading.”

We fell into some awkward conversation that evolved into something more natural. It was back to our old routine, talking until one of us needed food, caved in and ordered something. He seemed to be alright, seemed to be perfectly content with just moving past the problems. I tried to at least appear the same way. 

Later that night, once I was sure he had fallen asleep, I crept out of our shared bed carefully. Sometimes it was more difficult to let things go. Writing helped. 

_ How do I begin.  _

_ I wonder about his thoughts. Is he faking being alright, like me? Should I have apologized more? Tomorrow I will do something nice for him. Breakfast in bed, or maybe I’ll pick up his favorite junk foods and rent “Husbands and Wives”.  _

_ I’m not upset anymore. I just want to forget about it, and go back to normal. I have to stop jeopardizing the most important relationship that I have over stupid, juvenile jealousies. Something has to change.  _

I snapped the journal shut. Closing my eyes, I stretched out on the couch and tried to calm my mind. It wasn’t happening. 

“Scumpete,” a tired voice called out from the recesses of the apartment. “You okay?”

I waited until he had sat down beside me to respond. 

“Yes. Just writing some thoughts down. Did I wake you?”

“Well, by not being next to me, yes.” He wrapped both strong arms around my waist and tucked his head into the crook of my neck. “Scumpete...what should I do? How can I make you feel better?”

_ I need space. _

“I don’t know. A distraction is probably in order. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”

He sighed. “I don’t like this. Was it something I said? If that’s it, then I’m sorry. It was just anger-but I’m really didn’t mean it.”

“No, no let’s not get into that again. Come on, let’s get back to bed. I promise, you didn’t say anything I didn’t deserve.”

_ Anything I didn’t need to hear. _


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, I did make breakfast for him. He did wake up before I could bring it to him, but he still loved it. I rented his favorite movie and ordered his favorite candies and foods. Maybe if I gave him enough of his favorite things, he would consider me to be his favorite again.

It was nice, getting back into his good graces. More smiles, laughter, sweet nothings whispered. Easy. 

I wanted it to be like this for a long time. 

Yet after a few weeks, I was scared again. Scared of my inner demon rearing its ugly green head. It was restless, pacing around inside my heart and replanting possessive thoughts back in my brain. 

_ How does he know her? _

_ Why does she keep touching his arm? _

It was stupid. Obviously he was a very attractive, well-liked, famous man. Obviously, people would flirt and tease just to say that they had. He loved attention, but I was reassured by the way he reacted to the more outward displays of attraction. If she stood too close, he’d shift back. If she touched his arm for too long, he’d excuse himself and move away. I was proud, knowing he was doing these things to protect our relationship. Reassurance. 

The demon was there, but I was gaining more control of my actions and words. 

After a while, he too was becoming restless. He told me one night after finishing rewatching Friends, it was time. We had of course been living comfortably on his last paycheck for months. Thank you Marvel. 

But he was an actor. And was in love with it. It wasn’t a living, it was a passion. Projects weren’t coming in as often as he’d like them too, so as soon as he said that it was back to the search. Back to constant phone calls, manager meetings, Skype auditions. Back to resumes, dinners with directors, and stunt training. 

I was supportive. Reminding him of appointments, accommodating for his schedule. With him being busy for a good portion of the day, it gave me time to work on myself and rebuild. 

I read as many books as I could. Started going to the gym at our apartment complex. Tried meditating and aligning my chakras. Bought a new easel and went outside to paint. Overall, being ironically busy with relaxing was bringing my spirits and mental health back up. 

And every single day, he would come back to me. Always around the same time, just before dinner. Almost every time, I’d ask about whatever role he was meeting about. He would describe it, and then tell me it’s not the one. On his days off, he’d join me in whatever activity I had planned. Once, we went to the park and he tried his hand at painting. It wasn’t even terrible, but he still laughed and tried to hide it from me. 

A couple of times, I asked him to pose for me. It wasn’t the first time I’d drawn him, back before he knew who I was and I only had red carpet shots to replicate on paper. But I wanted more.

“Like your muse?” He grinned. It was obvious that he enjoyed the idea of having his form immortalized. Leos. 

“Yeah, exactly. Come on, it’ll only take a couple hours. I work quickly.”

And two hours later, almost on the dot, I threw down the paintbrush. 

“Finished.” 

I was pretty proud of it. The proportions and shape were as accurate as I could manage, and the amount of detail I’d applied only lent itself to his beauty. His pose of choice was shirtless, leaning against the kitchen counter and gazing off pensively. I had smiled, but accepted the pose all the same. 

He trotted over and peered over my shoulder. 

“Wow, that looks great. Sometimes I forget how talented you are.” He pressed a kiss to my cheek and continued admiring the piece. 

“What do ya think? Should we frame it so you’re up on the wall forever?”

“Above the bed,” he joked. “Actually I do want to keep it around.”

We did eventually decide to keep it above my desk in our shared office. Just as it had gone up and was properly centered, his phone began to ring. 


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s my agent. Hey, what’s up? Yeah? Did she say what kind of role?” He grinned and shot me a thumbs up. “That sounds pretty interesting. No, you know I love the anti hero.” Laugh. “Sure, I’ll meet with them. Yeah, on Monday? ‘Kay, got it. Thanks for letting me know. You too.” 

He hung up and shot me another smile. “This is great. I’ve got a meeting!”

“Of course you do. Any casting director would be lucky to have the opportunity to meet with you. What’s the role?”

He got the part.

It was a big budget film, based in the late nineties. He was playing a conspiracy theorist who constantly takes advantage of working at NASA, spilling secrets and classified information. But in the end he does kind of save the day, hence the anti hero. Based off what I’d seen on set, it was going to be pretty out there and wildly interesting. 

He invited me to go every single day during filming. 

“C’mon, I’ll probably just be sitting in that stupid chair for hours, waiting for them to actually need me. Just keep me company for a while.” 

As if I was about to say no.

We spent most of the days together, finding lots of trouble to get into on set. He’s a notorious prankster, especially when he gets bored. I’m the master manipulator. We make a good team. However, by the time shooting is almost over, most of the cast and crew have learned our tricks.

And of course, he absolutely nailed the role. 

He was so invested in the part. It was fascinating, how easily he could slip into character. Even a character that was so  _ not  _ like him. It wasn’t a job for him, it was a passion. The way his eyes lit up whenever his name was called to start filming, it was beautiful. 

It was simple, just being around each other. There wasn’t an awkward silence or a dull moment. Our personalities awarded us many interesting times with a few stimulating conversations. We spent time together, falling in love all over again. 

I was sad when filming was completed, and I wasn’t even in the movie. 

Filming had only taken three months, and it was another four before editing and everything else was finished. We went to the premiere together, excited to see how the piece turned out. 

It was a red carpet event, which meant spotlights and pictures everywhere. I didn’t mind as much, since it meant we could establish the strength of our relationship in the public eye. Currently, I wasn’t favored too highly by some of his fans. 

I had a dress picked out for weeks, and it was gorgeous. A deep burgundy color, with gold accents. Completely skin tight, until about knee length where the skirt flared. The neckline was scooped to reveal just enough of the goods.  I decided not to wear heels, because I didn’t really want to be as tall as him. 

Photographers called out to us, as we we shepherded down the line. A few more important people in the movie we pushed in front of us, but his manager also decided to move us forward. It was very much like they were prized pieces of meat being ranked in a line. I hate the spotlight, and I knew he didn’t like all the added hype of such intensity. 

But neither of us complained. It was an honor for him, and he must have been very proud of the work he’d done. I was only there to support him and the movie. 

Finally, after the photographers were happy and it was almost time to start the premiere, we were shuffled into the private theatre. I sat next to him and one of the costars. We exchanged some small talk about the film and about Sebastian, then separately decided to not speak for the rest of the night. She was obviously attracted to him.

After the movie ended, we left for a couple more pictures. There was a party at the director’s assistant Upper East Side penthouse. 

“Let’s just go for a little bit. I’m don’t want to drink too much or anything.”

The large apartment was full of the cast and crew, all chattering and laughing happily. There were the majority that we recognized from the set, but also some editors and behind the scenes people the casting director introduced us to. It wasn’t my world, and I wasn’t sure how to navigate it, but he fell easily into it. We got one drink each, promising not to have any more. 

“C’mon, let’s go talk to the writers and see what they thought about our performances.” A loud, male co star threw an arm around him and pulled him away. “Lemme get you another drink.”

I rolled my eyes and followed, keeping an appropriate distance and finding a couple other guests of the cast to chat with. I was close enough to the loud group of writers to keep an eye on him and make sure he was doing okay.

Several drinks later, his blue eyes had become dark. They turned to me in a stare, a plea for help. 

“Sorry to interrupt.” I smiled widely at the group. “Darling, don’t you remember our plans for tomorrow morning? We should really get going now, right?”

His face broke into a grin. “ _ Dragoste _ ...you’re absolutely right. Sorry everyone, I gotta get home. Thanks for a great past year, congrats on the film.”

He made his way haphazardly through the crowd, mumbling apologies to the people he brushed against. When we eventually reached the elevator, I felt I could finally exhale in relief. 

“That was close,” he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. 

“No kidding. It’s okay, we’re going home now. We’ll get some water and go to sleep. Don’t worry, you did good. You left it behind. You turned away.” I stepped up to him and gently laced my fingers into his dark brown hair. Standing on my toes, I pressed my lips to his temple. His eyes stayed closed until the elevator dinged. 

We grabbed a cab home.   

After copious amounts of water and a piece of bread, he refocused. I knew it was affecting him, the tipsy fog that had settled over his brain. It was like a tease. His secret, that I would never expose unless he wanted me to. I sat with him the whole time, letting the calm atmosphere of our apartment sharpen his senses again. 

When it was over, we were just sitting on the couch. No tv, or music. Dim lighting. He sighed and turned to me. His arms snaked around my waist and he buried his head into my chest. I could feel his emotion before he even said the words.

“I need you,” he said quietly. 

Some kind of pride bubbled up in me. It was exactly what I’d always wanted, to have the love of my life be dependent on me to the same extent as I was towards him. It was cheesy and stupid, but I couldn’t help it. The demon purred, satisfied with his words. 

“Don’t worry,” I whispered into his hair. “You have me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Seb wants to get married. I never have wanted to marry anyone. For most people, that’s a bit of a deal breaker. Thankfully, we were in a good place when he first brought it up. We talked about it for hours, not fighting, not arguing. Just talking. Eventually we came to a compromise. 

Tiny wedding. It would be inexpensive. No big party, which I honestly thought he was a little relieved to hear. 

He liked the intimacy of my ideas. But he held firm on the marriage and wanted me to take his name. He insisted on his parents and my sister being there. 

I agreed easily. 

After we talked it over and decided what we wanted, he shot me a wicked grin.

“Looks like I have a proposal to plan.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

It only took him a few weeks to ask. We had fallen back into our old routine, spending our days in the apartment and just relaxing together. Life was calm, there was no rush or anxiety. Day by day, everything just sort of fell into place. 

I had just gotten home from a workout. He let me shower, only asking twice if he could join me. After I scrubbed away the sweat and grossness of the gym, I hopped out and got dressed. I wore one of his softest tshirts and old, tiny volleyball shorts. It was comfortable, but I knew he would claim it was sexy. 

He was in the middle of cooking dinner. Something spicy and flavorful. I started helping, sauteing onions and peppers. He prepared the chicken and rice, then together we rolled them up with the vegetables and cheese. I recognized the enchilada sauce that I’d prepared a couple days earlier.  

“How long should we bake these for?” 

“Half hour?” I guessed. He shrugged and set the timer. I hopped up on the kitchen island and held out my hand to him. He accepted it and stood in between my open knees. 

We shared one small kiss, before he pulled away and smiled wider. “I got something to ask ya.”

_ Oh. He’s finally going to ask.  _

“Hmm?” I humored him and placed both hands on his chest. 

“Dragoste. You are the light of my life. Nothing I have even compares to how you make me feel. I need you, I want you, I love you. Will you marry me?” He held up a ring in between his fingertips. 

I answered with a kiss. 

It was very simple, nothing elaborate, flowery or extravagant. Just bare, honest love. And that was representative of our relationship.

He placed the ring on my finger, then kissed it over and over again. 

Without even skipping a beat, we went straight back into our dinner. Conversation was filled with stories and predictions of our future together. He wanted to keep acting and bring me everywhere with him. Now that we were engaged, it would make sense for us to make our relationship more obvious. As long as I didn’t want to settle into one place and have a steady job somewhere, it would work. I assured him, I was exactly like him. I liked working “odd jobs” and having little assurance of where my next paycheck was coming from, only because it meant I was never tied down. 

He pictured our wedding, even as small as it was sure to be. His words flowed like paint on canvas, depicting a beautiful, enchanted masterpiece of our future together. For a while, we just sat together and allowed the images to wash over us. 

“Are you sure you want this?”

His hand reached out to grip mine. “What do you mean? Of course I want you, why would you even-”

“No, not me. Are you sure you want to do the small wedding and the simple proposal? I know you’re such a romantic and all. Are you sure you don’t want to go all out and spend a lot of money or have a huge party or propose in front of all our friends?”

“Dragoste,” he sighed. “Being with you has made me-well, forced me rather- to appreciate the intimacy of moments like this. Sure, I want everyone in the world to know our happiness and how wonderful you make me feel. But at the same time, it doesn’t seem fair that anyone else should get to see or understand this kind of love. I’ve been indulging my selfish side more and more, thanks to you. So yes, I wanted to have this private proposal in our home while making dinner. Because this our moment, no one else’s.”

_ Well, shit. _

“I’m glad then. Not that I’m complaining, obviously. I love you, and I don’t care where we do all this. It’s the union that matters.”

“I’m glad we agree.”

Several months after the engagement, he made a post to Instagram. He had wanted to give both of us time to become even more secure in the relationship before throwing that bomb into the world. A picture of us at the recent movie premiere, followed by the caption:  _ I hope all of you, my friends, give yourselves the opportunity to love and appreciate this wonderful woman. She is incredibly important to my life, and now I’m so happy to tell everyone that we are engaged (have been for four months actually (sorry)). I know that many of you haven’t had the chance to get to know her, but trust me when I say that she is absolutely deserving of your love as much as mine. Our relationship has been relatively private, but seeing as we are going to be married soon it’s time that we become official in the public eye. I hope you all share in my excitement and happiness. Thank you all, and much love.  _

When I tapped into the comments, it was nothing but love. His fans were so happy to see him happy, and wished him well. But, there were a few people just confused. 

_ “Who is she tho???” _

_ “How long have they been together?” _

_ “but how do you know her? just wondering, cause i dont wanna see you get hurt..” _

He assured me, that no amount of comments was going to get to him. It’d be a while before everyone would come to terms with the engagement and all the questions would be answered. He was interrupted in his explanation by a phone call from Anthony, a favorite old castmate. 

They chatted for a while. His grin never left his face, only getting wider when he giggled a little at whatever silly jokes Anthony was making. It was the warmest feeling, seeing his nose and eyes get all scrunched up by his joy. He accepted the congratulations, and agreed to going to dinner sometime soon so he could see us together. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Did Chris invite you to go out tonight?” I looked up from my phone, where a casual text from the man himself had interrupted the video I was watching.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I hadn’t decided if I wanted to go or not. If I do, I think I’d want you to come, if you’re not busy. Please?” 

I nodded, a little taken aback. “Sure. anything you need. Let me know then?”

We did go.

Under the influence of Chris and Anthony, he decided to see them considering no one knew when they’d all be in town again. I agreed to go with, not only to see old friends but also because he wanted someone to keep him in check. 

It was a rowdy club, but the celebrity status of our group earned a table on the balcony that overlooked the club. The entire place was lit up with soft blue, red and purple lights that danced as maniacally as the crowd on the floor. There was a traditional bar, but being literally and figuratively above everyone else, drinks were served by a waiter. 

He thought carefully for a moment before ordering “just a beer”. We drank and laughed as a group for quite some time, the other males ordering round after round. By about the half hour mark, everyone had at least three drinks of their choosing. 

My phone began buzzing in my lap. A barrage of texts flowed in, all telling me to look down at the dance floor. Glancing down at the crowd, I noticed one of my old friends from art school, shouting and waving her arms frantically at me. Immediately grinning, I hopped up and excused myself from the table. 

I met her in the middle of a huge group of people, forced into accepting a violent hug by the people pushing us together. We couldn’t talk, thanks to the thumping music, but we both just looked at each other and mutually decided to dance. 

After many songs, we made our way to the bar for more drinks. It was expansive, wrapping around to a completely different room than the dance floor, meaning this section of the bar was actually quiet enough to hold a conversation at. 

We caught up. She told me about her art internship with some big shot painter in Soho, and how the guy she was dating was driving her nuts. I divulged information about my recent engagement, and talked about my freelance art projects. But then, we fell into reminiscence about old times from school. I pointed out my fiance, who had moved from the table to the floor with Chris. They were laughing hysterically and attempting to dance. We laughed together at their expense. 

Eventually, they found us at the bar. They both stumbled over, clutching each other for support. Immediately I felt my eyebrows grow closer together. 

“Hey!” Chris drawled out. “Who’s this lovely lady?” He reached out and kissed her hand while she giggled. 

“Are you okay?” I ignored the other two, leaving them to flirt it out. “Talk to me, Seb.”

“‘M fine.” He grinned. “Really. Promise I didn’t have more than I said I would.”

“And how much is that?”

“Uhhh,” he ticked off on his fingers. “Eight?” 

Too much. 

“What did you drink? Just beers?”

Chris threw an arm around his shoulder. “Nahhhh, we got some shots.”

My skin heated up at that information. Chris knew. He knew that wasn’t going to be a good idea, he was there when this issue first reared its ugly head. What made him think-

I pushed aside my anger, instead opting for a more caring attitude. 

“Seb, hun, let’s go home. Come on.” I waved to my friend and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. How many times had I supported him through the walk out to the street? How many times had I had to hail a taxi and hold his hand to keep him from getting distracted and running off? 

More importantly, how long ago had it been since I had to do that?

How long had he been doing well?

I pushed him into the cab, holding onto his head so he didn’t bump it like he tended to. He mumbled some overly friendly pleasantries to the cabbie. The driver just laughed and asked me for an address. 

Finally, we arrived at home. He was cursing and holding his head in hands. The realization of what he’d gotten himself into must have hit. The apartment had a chill, like it always did when we came home like this. It was illuminated by only ominous moonlight and the lights of an insomniac city. 

As soon as he got in, he found the couch and face planted into it. I followed the old routine of caring for him, which was depressingly easy to remember. The only difference was this time my thoughts were filled with guilt. 

If I had kept a closer eye on him, he wouldn’t have had so many drinks. 

He wouldn’t have spiraled back down this old staircase of regret. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into the pillow. “‘M sorry…”

“No, you can’t blame yourself. I left you alone.” I set down a glass of water and settled onto the small space between his legs and the edge of the couch. 

“I shoulda been able to stop...shouldn’t need a babysitter when we go out. Should know better,” he sighed and shuffled to grab the water. “What would I do’f I didn’t have you?”

_ You didn’t have me. I wasn’t there, not really. _

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll be there, and next time I won’t leave you with those two alone. It’s okay, you’re home now. You can’t beat yourself up over this.”

“No, you don’t understand...I want it again,” he whispered. “I want to go back there and drink more...not even sober yet but I already want more. Not good enough for you…” 

It was heartbreaking, to hear these struggles cracking the edges of his voice. 

“I promise, you’re just feeling this way because it’s in your system. Just sleep on it, get better and everything will be okay in the morning. Once you wake up, everything will still be okay. Don’t think like this, just because of one slip up.”

_ The second “only one slip up in the past year.”  _

He did eventually fall asleep, right there on the couch. I crept to bed, promising myself that I’d get up before him and make sure he didn’t wake up alone. 

It seemed like I was making an awful lot of promises. 


	6. Chapter 6

“No.” His eyes turned dark with pain. “I can’t. Not anymore.”

It was several weeks after the first incident with Chris and Anthony. There had been more, except he didn’t bring me with him or tell me where he was going. He hadn’t talked to his agent since then either, claiming he wanted a break from acting for a while. There were events and after parties that I wouldn't hear about until he had already left and it was too late. A couple of times, I tried to bargain with the security working the events.

_ “Please, just tell Sebastian Stan that his fiancee is waiting for him outside. Will you do that?” _

Whether they did or not, he never came out. I couldn’t just wait there for hours, paparazzi had started to look curiously at me. So I would go home, staying awake until the wee hours of the morning when he would finally crash through the door. Every single time, he was inebriated out of his mind, mumbling that this was his choice. This was what he wanted.

I couldn’t hold my tongue and just take care of him anymore. 

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I can’t stop. I can’t be the person you want me to be...can’t marry you in good conscious. Thought I was better, thought I was never gonna do all this shit again. But I am, and I’m not being good to you. No good for you.”

My heart pounded with panic.

“Don’t think about it like that. You are good enough, you just made some bad choices. Listen, it doesn’t have to be like this. You can choose once more: you can be happy with me, or sick and miserable with the alcohol.”

I thought it was an obvious decision to make. I had finally scraped up enough confidence to believe that he loved me enough to choose me over anything else. 

“Wish it was that simple. But the sickness is me, it’s a part of me and it always will be. And it’s not good enough for you. No,” he cut me off right as I opened my mouth to argue. “No, I’m telling you that you deserve better than me. I know you’d settle for this, and try and fix me. But I can’t be fixed. And you have a better life waiting for you, one where you don’t have to deal with me. I can’t go through with this without feeling like a burden on you.”

Suddenly, the facade from the past month, where I’d bitten my tongue to shreds and tried to be as caring as possible, dissolved. It was replaced with fury, at him for thinking those things and at the situation.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you go through this alone? Do you really think you can just call it quits because you’re making stupid decisions every night? Don’t you dare tell me you can’t be fixed-and even so, I love you so fucking much. Even the parts that are sick, even when you’re so drunk you don’t remember your own name, even in those times, I still take care of you because I love you. Don’t try and tell me what I deserve, because I would rather have you, in all your imperfection, than have what you think I deserve. If I didn’t want you, I’d have left the first time I had to watch you get your stomach pumped at the hospital.” He flinched at the memory, that night that had become a taboo subject in our household. 

It hurt, to bring up something he’d tried to move on from. But he was choosing that life, he was choosing to give in to his disease over being married to me. 

“What happened to you needing me? What happened to you wanting to get better? Where did all this shit come from?”

He sighed. “I got another taste. I wanted to give in again, and I don’t need to bother you with taking care of me if I won’t even bother taking care of myself. I know. I know that as soon as I leave, I’ll be the worst guy in the world. Gonna be the biggest disappointment-”

“Is that what you want? You want your fans to be disappointed in you? What about your family? You think they’re gonna respect you for this? Never mind what I think. God, Sebastian, we didn’t tell anyone about our relationship because of this. We waited so you had a choice if you wanted to be with me for real or not. Now that we’re both committed, you wanna pull this crap?”

“I’ll stay with my mom.” He ignored my argument. 

Probably because he knew I was right.

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he continued. “Listen, I do love you. I promise. I just can’t marry you, not like this. Let me get it out of my system, let me fix myself for good.”

“You’re an idiot.” I moved away from him, trying my hardest not to push him. “But if this is what you want, okay. A break? Something temporary while you figure your shit out?” He nodded. “Fine. You gonna be public about it?”

“No point, right? I mean it’s just a break. Just for a while.” 

“Alright. Will you talk to me?”

“Maybe. When I’m ready to be-ready to commit again. If I feel okay again.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was all so messed up. 

Sure enough, he left. Went back to his mother's, upstate. I stayed in our apartment, completely alone except for the few times he stopped in to collect random things. Once, he just sent his mother to get some of his comfier clothes. 

“He’s a little sick.” She explained, her Romanian accent shining through despite many years in New York. “After the last time he came here, I think something set him off again. Spent all night at the bar in town...won’t you at least talk to him? Try and help him through it?”

Her eyes, sharp and somehow also soft, begged me to help him. She couldn’t do it herself, I knew. I knew Sebastian’s problem was too much for her to handle alone. 

But he left to get away from me. He left because he didn’t want me to see him like this. 

“How sick is he?”

She brought her eyebrows close together. “He has no appetite, only eats when he drinks. Head hurts all the time, he can’t sleep, but won’t get out of bed.”

_ Withdrawal. _

“When’s the last time he had a drink?”

“Nu știu...three days?”

“Well, get some food in him and plenty of water. Soup’s good. It’s withdrawal, but as long as he doesn’t have any hallucinations or anything, he’ll be okay in a couple more days.” I walked her to the door and tried to get her to leave.

“Please, I think he would feel better if you came. He’s not drunk, he’s sick. Surely if you were in his position you’d want him to see you, to get you through it?”

“I would never be in his position because I wouldn’t leave in the first place.” I said much colder than intended towards the woman. Trying again in a softer voice, “Unless he explicitly says he wants me there, I’m going to respect his wishes. Sorry.”   

It was all so messed up.

I spent those months alone, working and throwing myself into the art. All of the pieces seemingly reflected everything I missed about him. The warmth of the left side of the bed after he woke up, the tiny curves at the corners of his lips when he smiled, the melodic sound of his laugh. All captured through color and texture on canvas.

Once, I spent over an hour mixing and adjusting shades of blue paint to become exactly like those eyes. No matter how many highlights added, how dark the ring around the iris was, how many times I went back over it and added more, it was never perfectly like his. No matter how many times I adjusted those smile lines or changed the shading, it wasn’t instantly recognizable. Maybe I didn’t remember. Maybe I had figured it out thirty minutes ago, but just didn’t recognize the eyes I was looking into. 

Maybe I needed a break from myself too.

After carefully weighing the options, I realized I needed to get out of this city. I’d moved out here to be closer to him, so the entire city was associated with him in my eyes. He’d been the one to show me everything, almost everywhere I’d been was with him. It couldn’t hurt to get away, return home and distract myself from missing him.

I called my sister, in Indianapolis. She sounded surprised to hear from me, but I invited myself over all the same. As if she would actually say no. 

I took a day to pack a suitcase and buy a place ticket home. To my real home, not the fantasy I’d created in New York. For a moment, I considered calling Seb and letting him know that I was leaving, but decided against it. He knew where to find the spare key if he needed it. 

The flight was calm, no screaming babies or obnoxious arguments. I took the opportunity to respond to emails from prospective clients, telling them I could meet with them when I returned to New York. Only a couple of them seemed interesting to me, but I wasn’t about to turn a commission down just because I wasn’t inspired. 

After I had gotten through the work, I found myself with nothing else to do. It was silly, so ridiculous for me to want to look him up. But I was so curious. I had to know if he was keeping with the terms of our agreement, if he was making public appearances again, or if he was still at his mother's. I googled his name and held my breath. 

There was nothing. No headlines, no articles with his name for the past few weeks.

Except for one Instagram post to his page from a few days ago. A beautiful view of a lake, stormy grey New York clouds. It was simply captioned,  _ “Taking a much needed break from work and from social media. Thank you for the unconditional support.” _

Huh. 

I wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved. It didn’t really tell me what exactly he was doing, but it did mean he was indeed taking a break. I vaguely remembered him telling me once that his mother had moved to a lake house. 

The rest of the flight, I’m sad to admit, I spent watching old interviews of his. What can I say, I missed him.

Which was probably why when he called, I answered immediately.

I’d only been on the ground in Indianapolis for a few hours, but I’d met up with my sister for dinner and drinks at one of our favorite pubs. It was loud and busy, but at the same it was the perfect place to talk about nothing and everything. 

Until he called. 

I answered quickly, giving a hasty excuse to run to the bathroom. 

“Seb?”

“Where are you?” He demanded. “I came home and the doorman said you were going out of town. Where are you?”

I closed the door to the bathroom and checked to make sure I was alone. He sounded upset. “I went home.”

“Where is that? Because I’m in your home right now, and you’re not here. What the fuck?”

“I’m staying at my sister’s. Last time I checked, I was perfectly at liberty to do so.”

He sighed and I heard the frustration in his breath. “It’s not bothering me that you left. It’s that you didn’t at least let me know. I came here to talk to you.”

_ Oh?  _

“Aren’t you talking to me right now?”

“I mean really, properly talk. When are you coming back?”

“I’m not sure.” A pair of women walked in to the restroom, giggling and holding on to each other. “Just needed a break from New York and painting and being alone.”

I hadn’t said that to make him feel guilty, but he was nevertheless.

“I’m sorry to have left you alone-are you in public? Do you need to call me back?”

“Just out with my sister. I’ll call you when I get a chance. We can talk about me coming back then, okay?”

“I love you,” he pressed. “Don’t forget that.”

_ God, I’d missed hearing that. _

“I love you too. Take care of yourself, alright?”

_ Don’t get into any trouble. _

“Okay, dragoste, I will. Call me later.”

I hung up, took a few moments to recompose my thoughts before rejoining my sister. She seemingly knew who had called, but graciously let me be vague about what the call was about. 


	8. Chapter

Once I had settled in to the guest room and made sure my sister had gone to bed, I called him. It was relatively late, but something told me he would wait up. And sure enough, he answered quickly. 

“Hey,” his voice wavered slightly. 

“Hi,” my own came out tinny.

He took a deep breath in and then launched into his explanation. “I know the last time you heard about me I was really sick from withdrawal-thank you for diagnosing it by the way, my mother was worried- but I haven’t had a drink since. I’ve been talking to someone, a counselor actually. We’ve been figuring out why I keep falling into the same pattern over and over again-but that’s not really important. My point is, that I’m getting better. I’m almost completely better, and it’ll take some more time to fully figure out the long term-but having you in my life is the first step in that. I’m sober-I have been for a month-and now I know better than to willingly binge like that. I know better than to push away the only person who has the guts to stop me. And I know I was an absolute piece of shit,” his voice got softer, apologetic. “But I won’t say those things to you ever again. I promise, when I get sick like that, I will let you help me. God, I’m just so sorry for doing this and I’m kicking myself for potentially screwing this up for good. I didn’t, right?”

I considered the situation. He was simply human, he’d made mistakes. How many times had I screwed up to the point of ruining a relationship? How much of my past was filled with regrets and, as he so eloquently put it, “kicking myself”? 

Loss and regret didn’t make me learn my lesson. No matter how many different relationships I’d partaken in, they were all the same. Just with a different person. Being given a second chance, being shown mercy and forgiveness did force me to reevaluate my actions. 

I knew there was no way I would stay angry about this. And I knew if he was truly sorry, he wouldn’t willingly do something like this again. It wasn’t him-it was the disease. And I had to help him. 

“Of course you didn’t mess it up for good-I forgive you. And I will help you through it. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” Seb breathed in relief. “Will you come home soon? I need you here. And I miss you.”

I thought about it for a moment. “I guess-I’ll look at flights tomorrow and see what’s available. Maybe I should have told you I was planning on leaving, so you could at least try and stop me,” I joked. 

“Well it’s okay. You’re coming home, that’s all that matters.”


	9. Chapter 9

After landing in New York, we dove right back into our lives. He returned from his sabbatical and finally responded to his agent’s calls. It didn’t take very long for him to find a role that suited him. And then of course his monstrous contract with Marvel kept him busy. 

I caught up on commissioned paintings and made progress in that regard. And, indeed, Seb became my muse. He was a favorite subject in most of the paintings, even if it was in an obscure way. 

But we were happy. Sure there were some problems, some jealousies and one too many drinks. He did get help from a professional with his alcoholism, at my insistence. It was something that would never completely go away. However, we always worked through them and promised to never give up on each other. 

Those promises were easy to write into wedding vows. 

We got married in late August. Nothing about our plans changed, it was just as small and intimate as we’d originally decided. It was just the two of us and our close family, but in the moment, I think we both just forgot about anyone else in the room. 

His vows weren’t like the flowery words he’d originally proclaimed during our engagement. In a way, they were more real, more genuine to our relationship, more honest. Just as beautiful and enticing, but better. 

I promised to stand by him when he needed me, to always take care of him and support his positive endeavors. I vowed to love him unconditionally. To always give him my best even when I felt my worst, because he deserved it. I told him how much I appreciated everything he was, even the parts of himself that he wasn’t so enthusiastic about. 

We exchanged the “I do”s, shared a kiss, and just like that, we were forever committed to one another. 


End file.
